


Silks and Swans

by Thursday_Next



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Comment Fic, M/M, Same-Sex Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-23
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 05:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thursday_Next/pseuds/Thursday_Next
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And all this -- the roasted meats, the wine, the trays upon trays of sweetmeats, the silks and the swans and the twin thrones covered in gold leaf at the head of the banqueting table -- all this he would have, anything he desired, anything Loras desired, too. Why not start as he meant to go on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silks and Swans

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 'Let's Get Gay Married' comment fest on livejournal.

Rows upon rows of tents housed the Tyrells, their bannermen and assorted retinue. It looked almost like a military encampment. It almost was, part of the purpose of having a wedding party on such a grand scale was to impress upon Stannis and the Lannisters just how much strength this union would bring to Renly and his claim to the throne. Part of it, too, was that Renly just enjoyed the finer things in life. His wedding suit was Dornish silk, the wine for the festivities alone cost more gold than he himself possessed. No matter, he'd let the Tyrells find the gold, they were buying a kingdom with it, after all. And when this war was all done, he'd have all the wealth of Casterly Rock at his disposal.

Mace Tyrell had been delighted at the prospect of a wedding. Of course at first he'd wanted Renly to marry the sister rather than the brother. But Renly had disabused him of that notion pretty quickly, telling him in no uncertain terms that she'd never get an heir out of him. So he agreed to this match with Loras, no doubt thinking that Renly would name any children Margaery might have as his heir. Or perhaps that crippled brother. No matter, Renly would be king and the Maesters and his in-laws could squabble about the succession when he was dead, what would it all matter to him then? Renly was going to be king because he wanted to. And he was marrying Loras because he wanted to, too. That was the sort of man – the sort of king – he was. And all this -- the roasted meats, the wine, the trays upon trays of sweetmeats, the silks and the swans and the twin thrones covered in gold leaf at the head of the banqueting table -- all this he would have, anything he desired, anything Loras desired, too. Why not start as he meant to go on?

There had been some mutterings, he knew. It was not, some said, traditional, not proper for a king to marry a knight. But a king makes his own laws, his own traditions. The Targaryens wed brother to sister for centuries, after all. People could say it was a fool king that was brought to his knees by a boy who was skilled in dropping to _his_ , but they could go to the grave. He would have the man who shared his bed, the only person he trusted with his life. Renly didn't care to use the word love carelessly, it was a fool who used such a word in such treacherous times. He wanted, and what he wanted, he would get. 

There was a quiet cough at the entrance to his tent. His guard - you could never be too careful in these days, even at a wedding - Brienne of Tarth, a woman not that you'd know it under the layers of chain mail. Her presence raised some eyebrows as well, but Renly dismissed them. If he could take a man to wed, he could have a maid draw a sword in his defence. He'd watched Loras spar with her, upon occasion, swordplay could be a stirring sight. Watching Loras fight was a stirring sight, certainly. Graceful, elegant and far removed from the bloody realities of battle. When he was king, he'd have dozens of tourneys a year and Loras could win them all for him.

Brienne coughed again and Renly smiled. Time to go. Loras was waiting for him at the opening to the tent, dressed in a fine tunic embroidered with the flowers that were his sigil and a gold cloak. Renly's eyes ran over him approvingly, pretty and expensive, just as he liked. The entire crowd bowed as they entered, arm in arm, showing their allegiance to their chosen king and his chosen consort. All but Loras, of course, who leaned in and whispered,

"Is all this really necessary?" with a quirk to his lips. Renly liked that he could rely in these people to be deferential; liked it more that he could rely on Loras _not_ to be.

"If you think this is opulent, my love, wait until you see the bedchamber," Renly murmured in reply. Loras tipped back his head and laughed, hair glinting golden in the sunlight, bright like a newly sharpened sword.


End file.
